


Ghosts

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mention of Past Abuse, Mention of past trauma, PTSD, Panic Attacks, angstfic, fics that make you want to take a shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Regent is long dead, but the marks of his hands and mouth are still deeply imprinted on Laurent's soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Recovery from trauma is a journey that doesn't end with "a bad thing happened and it made me sad." After a particularly nasty episode of my own, I dumped my experiences into a fanfic, because that's what fanfics are for.

"Don't touch me." Laurent's shoulders hunch a little. "Please."

"I'm not going to touch you," Damen said lowly, taking three steps back, and then another three to the right, the mattress sighing a little as he sat on it. "I'm here, on the bed. Your chair by the hearth is just off to your left, there. I'm not going to come any closer."

A long silence from Laurent. Then, stiffly, "I'm... not ready to move yet."

"That's fine. You can stay."

They'd practiced for this. Well, Damen had practiced, with the help of Isander's trainer, who was well versed in these types of things because of his position, and Pallas, who'd had a boyhood friend who'd come from similar circumstances. Both had warned him that this would happen, that it would get worse before it got better, and that a sense of normalcy would be something Laurent would likely be chasing for most of his life.

So Damen had learned as best as he could, and then, soldier-like, drilled until he was sure he would be able to handle the moment when it came. He knew it would be sudden and unexpected, an ambush of emotions and memories and fears. He knew it would be hard. He didn't care. 

Laurent stood near the wall, struggling to breathe evenly. Perhaps only Damen could see the signs of his distress: anyone else coming upon the scene would see only the two kings carefully not looking at each other, one on the bed, the other standing a few paces away from a broken wineglass, back straight and shoulders square, head slightly inclined as if in thought. 

These days, Damen could read the lines of Laurent's body as easily as he could a map. He saw the fear in his stance, the shame. He ached to go to him and take him in his arms, but he knew better than that. 

That was the hardest part: Damen would strip naked and lay across hot coals so that Laurent could walk safely atop him, but here, now, with old pain written so clearly on Laurent's sharp features, Damen could do nothing but let him come back to himself. 

It had been the wine, he thought. The smell of the wine, an older vintage from Vere that had been in one of the vast cellars at Arles. Laurent, of course, didn't drink. It was Damen who often indulged in a glass or two in the evening after a long day, sitting beside Laurent who typically drank only water or, very occasionally, honeyed mead.

Tonight, Damen had poured himself a glass and drank, remarking on the stellar quality to Laurent. "Try a little," he'd said, leaning into Laurent's shoulder and offering the glass to him. "A sip or two won't hurt you. And--"

Laurent had knocked the glass out of his hand, sending it to shatter on the tiled floor. Damen had only an instant to recognize the rigid terror in Laurent's eyes before Laurent had surged out of his seat and stalked to the window, gulping in great breaths of air. He'd wrapped his arms around himself, hunching his shoulders, hanging his head. He looked, Damen, had thought, almost like a child, young and frightened--

Of course. He was an idiot. He cursed himself, hastily corking the wine bottle. There was nothing to be done about the spilled puddle on the floor just then. He'd taken the bottle to the door of the bedroom, setting it out in the hallway. When he'd come back, he'd seen Laurent visibly tense at the sound of his footsteps, and had carefully moved to keep from blocking the exit.

Now, Laurent's breaths were beginning to even out. He lifted his head, looked over at the chair beside the hearth, then at Damen, sitting on the bed. Damen held himself very still, waiting.

"I apologize," Laurent said, voice still a little strained. "It was-- that is, I didn't expect..."

"It's okay, it's fine," Damen assured him. "I'm not hurt."

Laurent took a few steps toward the hearth, cautious as a deer and as likely to bolt at the first sign of danger. Finally, he sat down, making an effort to relax his shoulders, putting his hands in his lap.

"Tell me what you want me to do," Damen said after a time. "I can stay here, if you want. Here on the bed where you can see me."

Laurent's head dipped a little, eyelashes fluttering. "I... you can come over here." He swallowed. "I'd like you to be over here."

"Okay. Yes." Damen stood, keeping his posture relaxed, walking in a wide circle to reach the hearth so he wasn't coming up on Laurent from behind. "I'm right here, Laurent," he said as he sat down. "I won't let anyone else into the room unless you want them here. No one can force their way past me. You understand that, don't you?"

A quick nod.

"You can stay in here as long as you need to. I will stay by you as long as you need me to," Damen said. "I swear to you that I will only do what you ask me to, and nothing else."

Laurent was looking down at his hands. For a long while there was only the crackle of the fire, the thump of a log settling. Then, "My Uncle," he began, then stopped, lips parted, eyes closed, as if the words had simply dried up on his tongue.

"You don't have to," Damen said softly.

Laurent shook his head, jaw tensing. "I-- I was very young. For wine. Auguste wouldn't have liked it, if he'd known. And Uncle had said" --he strangled on the words a moment-- "not to tell him, for it would only upset him, and he had so many other important matters to think about. And later it-- Uncle would share a glass with me and-- and he--"

"Laurent." Damen wanted so badly to reach out to him, but didn't. Couldn't. "It's all right, take a breath."

Laurent did take a breath, a great shuddering gasp, then two, before lowering his face into his hands. He bit down on any sort of sound he might make and so there was no sobbing, no wails or moans, just Laurent curled over his own lap, very still, firelight reflecting on long strands of golden hair. 

Damen finally, carefully put a steadying hand on Laurent's shoulder. Then he stared into the fire and longed for the simplicity of fighting off his enemies with a sword.

**Author's Note:**

> It'd be nice if we all had a giant animal guarding the door for us.


End file.
